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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24272032">If the World was Ending You'd Come Over Right?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libstar/pseuds/Libstar'>Libstar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Devil Wears Prada (2006)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:08:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,432</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24272032</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libstar/pseuds/Libstar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy and Miranda come together in the face of a pandemic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It has been a long, long time since I wrote anything for the DWP fandom but I've fallen headfirst back into it during lockdown and it's got my brain ticking again. This was supposed to be a one-shot but in true me fashion it's likely to be more than that. Vaguely inspired by JP Saxe - If the World was Ending because as well as fanfic I've been spending too much time on tik tok and it's been flying round my head for a while.</p>
<p>But if the world was ending<br/>You'd come over, right?<br/>You'd come over and you'd stay the night<br/>Would you love me for the hell of it?<br/>All our fears would be irrelevant</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The world wasn’t ending but there were days when it felt like it, Andy didn’t think she’d ever seen New York so empty, would never have believed that it was possible for a city that was chaotic morning, noon and night to be anything close to peaceful but these weren’t normal times. As a journalist she had had an almost front row seat to everything unfolding but still, it felt surreal to be walking the streets during what would traditionally be rush hour and see only a handful of cars on the road. She was walking a lot more, it felt safer than getting the subway and with the reduction in services it was often quicker but it did mean that she was passing by the Elias-Clark building every day and, despite the years since she had worked there it was impossible not to let her eyes be drawn to the seventeenth floor where she could imagine Miranda still working hard, regardless of what else was going on in the rest of the country. She hoped the older woman was being sensible and safe, it was true that there were some things that could not be done electronically but Andrea knew that the vast majority of Runway’s output could be managed, with the right tech, from the safety of people’s front rooms, kitchen tables, and spare rooms. She knew from Nigel that Men’s Runway had gone remote access before things had gotten too bad but the last time they’d spoken he’d told her that Miranda at least was still going into the office every day ‘a law unto herself that one’. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time since she’s been taking this route through the city, there is a car pulled up at the curb outside the building, it isn’t the usual town car that Miranda favors but Andrea is sure that she recognises it, it’s not until she catches movement out of the corner of her eye and her focus is drawn to snowy white hair that she works out why, it’s Miranda’s car, one that rarely comes out of the garage and one that certainly doesn’t go to the office, but then, Miranda usually wouldn’t be seen carrying a stack of work to the car either. It was so like Miranda to have everyone continue to believe she deserved every negative moniker she has ever been given in the press while, without fanfare, giving her drivers the time off to stay safe during a pandemic. There would be those in the media who would assume that Miranda was still in the office, still had her team in the office and still had her driver taking her round the city but, unlike Andrea who could see Miranda in that office even as the world was blowing up around her because she passionately believed in her vision and wanted to share it, the wider press, those who hadn’t worked for her, hadn’t seen behind the veneer, would believe that she was doing it because she didn’t care about anything but making money. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Andrea doesn’t realise that she has stopped, or that she is staring until piercing blue eyes meet hers and she shivers at the look the older woman gives her like she’s stripping her bare. It’s so reminiscent of the first time they saw each other after Andy walked away in Paris except there is no traffic between them, Miranda’s sunglasses aren’t blocking her eyes and Andy is more confident now, the wave she offers a bright one, not a self-conscious wiggle of the fingers. They’ve seen each other in the intervening years of course, it’s impossible to be a journalist in this city and avoid Miranda Priestly, across ballrooms and fancy dinner tables, once at a climate march that the older woman had been attending with the twins and each of these meetings has only acted to keep the spark she has been carrying for her ex-boss alight. Unlike the first time, this time Miranda offers her own wave back, a small smile and Andy wishes she could just cross the road to speak to her, it’s been about a year since the last time they crossed paths at an event and she longs to check-in in the way they have developed over the years, wants to hear how the twins are doing at college, how Miranda is surviving lockdown in the townhouse without them, but she knows if she gets close she’ll want to hug her and that’s something she can’t do, despite the pandemic she’s still running all over the city picking up god knows what and she’d never forgive herself if she passed the virus onto the other woman so instead she offers a smile, another smaller wave and tucks her hands into her pockets, continues the walk home and tries not to think any more of it, know that when all of this is over and the events are back up and running their paths will cross again. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>It’s been the month from hell, reporting more deaths, pop up morgues, freedom protests, and continued injustice and she’s emotionally and physically exhausted. She loves her job, loves chasing stories but she still struggles with those that expose the worst in people, the worst in society, and with nothing else to report its all starting to weigh her down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The day she starts coughing, a relentless, dry cough that rattles in her chest and frustratingly never seems to shift anything or relieve any of the pressure it’s no real surprise. She’s been careful, worn a mask, only mixed with others when it’s been totally necessary and tried to keep at least 2 meters distance but given the stories, she’s been given it’s not always been that easy. She calls her boss and he tells her to lay low, not to worry about her wages and to take it easy, he’s been good through all of this, has tried to keep them all as safe as possible and has avoided laying anyone off so far, she trusts that he’ll keep his word on this too and unplugs from the world for a while, a mental break as much as a physical one. The temperature is the worst, followed by the cough but she’s lucky that she doesn’t have it as bad as a lot of people and she can manage it with painkillers, rest, and plenty of fluids. It’s a great opportunity to fall into a Netflix hole, to binge-watch all of the series her friends have been recommending but she hasn’t had time to get round to.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>She’s a week into her isolation, not feeling any worse but not feeling much better either, when her phone rings, a number she never deleted, a ringtone she never changed and it’s like being thrown back years as she fumbles for her phone, manages to answer after just two rings.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Miranda?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Andrea,” it would have been confirmation if she needed any, but considering she was the one to make the call Miranda doesn’t seem to be too forthcoming with a reason why.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What can I do for you?” she prompts, pushes the idea that the older woman kept her number all this time away to consider later,</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I er…” Miranda unsure isn’t something she’s used to and she’s suddenly worried that something has happened,</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s happened, Miranda? Are the girls ok? Are you ok?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No no, nothing happened,” Miranda sighs and Andy can picture her pinching the bridge of her nose in the way she did when she thought no one was watching, “I, well I wanted to make sure you were ok?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Me?!’ she’s glad they aren’t in the same room because she knows she is gaping but honestly, Miranda Priestly calling her up to make sure she is ok is something she never would have believed would happen.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes you, silly girl.” Miranda mutters and there’s a bit more of the editor in her voice, it makes Andy feel a little more even footed, “It has been almost two weeks since your name appeared in that paper you write for.” so Miranda read her articles too, “and I thought it odd since you tend to appear most days.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” she murmurs, thinks this is as close as she’ll ever get to Miranda Priestly suggesting she cares about her, “I’ve been self-isolating, pretty sure I have contracted the virus.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Miranda sounds furious and Andy is hard pushed to work out why, hates that she is feeling so sensitive that tears spring to her eyes,</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been doing my best to stay safe but it’s hard when the thing you are reporting on is the thing you’re trying to avoid,” she says, tries, and fails, to keep the upset out of her voice</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not mad at you,” Miranda’s voice is almost soothing, “Sorry, you should have called me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” she doesn’t sound furious, just baffled because why would Miranda think she would call her?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You still have my number don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course Miranda but…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then you should have called me, are you on your own? Do you have everything you need?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve not had much of an appetite the last few days so I’ve been living on canned soup.” she offers, she really hasn’t wanted to eat anything so the soup she had stashed in the back of the cupboard has lasted her far longer than it would have if she were feeling healthy, “And the girl who rents the spare room flew back out to her parents before everything locked down.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Unacceptable,” Miranda whispers and it sounds like she’s rummaging through cupboards, “send me your address and I’ll be with you in an hour with some proper food,”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Miranda I’m fine, you don’t need to come here,”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Send me your address Andrea, or I’ll have my assistant find it for me.” the line goes dead and all Andy can do is roll her eyes, sends the older woman her address because she knows that she definitely would get her assistant to find it if she didn’t and waits.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>She must drift off because the knock at the door startles her awake and she feels groggy and disorientated as she stumbles to the door and pulls it open, nearly lands flat on her back when Miranda waltzes through the door and into her apartment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Miranda you can’t be in here, you’ll get sick,” she says, keeps her distance and snags her mask from the table by the door and slips it on, tries to process the fact that Miranda Priestly is in her home with bags of groceries and, is that an overnight bag?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be ridiculous Andrea, you shouldn’t be on your own and you need food. Close the door and take the mask off, I’m not going anywhere.” she closes the door but doesn’t take the mask off, perches on the arm of the sofa and watches as Miranda moves around her kitchen like she owns it, emptying her bags into cupboards, fridge and freezer, Andrea is pretty sure she’s never had as much food in the place. “Bedroom?” Miranda asks once she’s done, hoisting the other bag onto her shoulder and she can only gesture towards her open door, makes a note to text her housemate to ask if it’s ok if she uses her room for a while. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s still sitting on the arm of the sofa when Miranda comes back out of her room and sets about unpacking her laptop, work phone and files onto the coffee table like it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to be in an ex assistants apartment in jeans and a buttondown shirt. When it’s clear that the other woman is making herself comfortable and isn’t going to say any more Andy slides down onto the sofa and pulls the mask off with a sigh, braces herself to be ignored because if she knows anything about the other woman it’s that she doesn’t explain herself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Miranda, why are you doing this?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is slightly shorter than the first, mostly because I felt like it was a good place to end it. I've hit a slight block on account of the fact I hadn't planned this to be more than a one shot so if any of you have any ideas you might want to see then hit me up in the comments and I'll see what I can do. I have a week off work this week which should mean more time to write but usually means I have writers block until the minute I sit back at my desk to start working again! But I'll see what I can do.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Why are you doing this Miranda?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I had food, you needed food and you shouldn’t be on your own,” the older woman offers, doesn’t even take her eyes away from whatever she is looking at, “now if you don’t mind, I have some things that need my attention.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oookay,” Andy draws out, it’s such a non answer but she’s amazed that Miranda answered at all, whatever the reason Andy is going to have to get used to having the other woman in her space, but that also means that Miranda is going to need to get used to the fact that Andy isn’t the scared second assistant anymore. She smirks at Miranda’s pointed look when she turns the TV on and navigates to Netflix, decides on an episode of Friends because she’s pretty sure she’s going to fall asleep again and she has watched it enough times that it won’t matter. She does turn it down a little in deference to Miranda having to work though, she’s not a total monster. It takes her a while to get comfortable and she can almost feel the side eye from Miranda every time she shuffles to find the optimum position but once she’s there she’s happy to never move again and tries her best to focus on the TV and not try and ponder over what really brought Miranda to her door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s something soothing about the scratch of pen on paper and the swish of turning pages above the chatter of the TV and before long she’s asleep again, so heavily asleep that she is unaware of Miranda covering her in a blanket, so asleep that she misses the look on the other woman’s face as she tucks it around her shoulders, a look that she would be totally unable to decipher had she been awake enough to see it. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>When she does wake it’s slowly and she feels disoriented by the low light as she scrubs at her face and tries to get her bearings. The apartment is dark except for the light of a single lamp, the TV has fallen quiet and there is someone moving around in her kitchen, it takes her brain a couple of seconds to remember the events of the day. When she eventually forces her eyes open it’s easy to find Miranda pottering around the kitchen in nothing but the light from the lamp which casts a glow on her white hair, Andy still can’t wrap her head around the fact that she’s there never mind work out why.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh good,” Miranda says when she turns from the stove, “you’re awake, dinner is almost ready if you want to go and freshen up?” she’s still not with it enough to form intelligible words, offers a grunt and a nod as she rolls off the sofa and heads in the direction of the bathroom. The sight that meets her in the mirror is not a pretty one, her cheek is pink and creased from where she was lying, her hair, that was in a messy bun to begin with is toppling off the opposite side of her head. She starts by splashing cold water on her face to wake herself up and then sets about fixing her hair, runs a brush through it when she realises she doesn’t actually remember the last time she did that. She vaguely considers changing but she’s comfy and Miranda has seen her already, getting changed now isn’t going to change the fact that she answered the door to Miranda Priestly in leggings and an old, oversized and, in places, holey, tshirt. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By the time she wanders back into the main body of the apartment she at least feels more awake and there are steaming plates on the breakfast bar, she doesn’t care what it is, it smells amazing and for the first time in days she actually feels hungry. Miranda has already made herself comfortable on the kitchen side of the counter so Andy pulls herself up into the opposite seat and offers the older woman a gentle smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This smells amazing Miranda,” she offers and her smile is returned with the tilt of a wine glass,</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Enjoy,” Miranda takes a sip of her drink before digging into her own meal and Andy doesn’t delay in following her lead. She has no power over the moan of delight at the first taste of the pasta dish, can’t remember the last time she ate something that tasted so good.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh god Miranda,” she groans once she’s eaten a few more forkfulls, “did you make this? It’s amazing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No need to sound so surprised,” Miranda sniffs, but Andy notes that she also looks slightly pleased, “I didn’t always have Cara and I have had to eat since.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know that Miranda,” she sighs, eats another forkful before she continues, “but this, I would pay money to eat this.” she can tell by the look on the other woman’s face that she thinks she’s exaggerating and has no idea how to change her mind so instead she continues to eat, continues to hum appreciatively until her plate is empty and she relaxes back in her chair full and content. She doesn’t miss the fact that Miranda does not eat all of her slightly smaller plate of food but she doesn’t comment, simply stores the knowledge away with the other things she has noticed about her since she forced her way into the house only a few hours previously.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you mind if I had a shower?” Miranda asks a little later, they had taken their drinks to the sofa and exchanged small talk for a while after dinner, Andy had been pleased to note that it wasn’t as stilted as she had feared. She mostly let Miranda talk about the girls, how they were doing at their respective collages and Andrea loves the pride that shines from the older woman’s face as she relays how well they are doing, she’s worried about them too, in light of the pandemic, but Andy reminds her that they are sensible and wouldn’t do anything to put themselves in harms way. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, you’re staying so please don’t feel you need to ask.” she says, uncurls herself from her corner of the sofa and pushes herself up, she’s starting to feel exhausted again and warm, probably time to take some more medication, “I’ll get you some fresh towels.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She meets Miranda at the bathroom door, the other woman carrying a wash bag and a fresh set of clothes. “Let me switch it on for you, it can be, well a bit temperamental at the best of times and I’d hate for you to end up frozen.” She tries not to worry about how unsuited her little apartment is to the presence that is Miranda Priestly, hopes the older woman doesn’t spot the patch of damp in the corner above the shower, or the fact that the extractor fan barely works, it’s a step up from the cupboard she shared with Nate but for Miranda it’s several flights down from the town house and Andy doesn’t think she’s ever felt so unworthy of another human being.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Miranda showers she tries not to dwell too much on the thought of the other woman naked and wet not ten feet away, tries not to imagine water droplets trailing over unblemished shoulders she has been mesmerised by since seeing them perfectly bare in that Valentino gown. She picks up her book, tries to distract herself but it doesn’t work, she reads the same line five times over before she gives up and puts it down again, tells herself that if she lets her mind wander now then it will be out of her system and it wont happen again however long Miranda decides to stay. It’s a lie she’s telling herself and she knows it, the truth of it is she has always recognised Miranda’s beauty, she would be a fool if she hadn’t but the longer she had worked for her, the more she had seen, the further she had fallen. She’d painted it a silly crush at the time, had been sure after walking away in Paris that it would fizzle out but that had been a lie too and their smattering of meetings over the last few years had only confirmed that what she had been feeling for the older woman was more than mere attraction, in fact, there was a spectacularly high chance that she was in love with her. </span>
</p>
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